


The Highwayman

by mdseiran



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: hobbit_kink, Kidnapping, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdseiran/pseuds/mdseiran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything Thorin knows about bandits tells him being kidnapped and held for ransom shouldn't be such a pleasant experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Highwayman

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5821.html?thread=12555965) at the Hobbit Kink Meme:
> 
> _Bilbo is the world's most genteel highwayman. Thorin's carriage gets waylaid.  
>  Romance ensues.  
> Bonus points for:  
> \- Aristocrat!Thranduil looking down on Thorin's family, which made its fortune in industry.  
> \- Bottom!Thorin getting very thoroughly swept off his feet._

He starts feeling uneasy when his carriage is forced to make a sudden detour. "A tree crashed on the road, sir," his driver says, but he doesn't remember any recent storms. If only this trip wasn't so time-sensitive, he would happily wait for someone to clear the obstacle. But Count Smaug had given them a deadline, and he would barely meet it as is.

The new path is far bumpier, and Thorin steadies himself as the carriage bounces him around. The bag of gold jingles at his feet. Nervously, his hand clenches around the sealed contract, before thinking better of it and stuffing it in his inside pocket.

The carriage stops.

Thorin knocks on the wood separating him from the driver. "Why have we stopped?" he demands. The driver doesn't answer.

Suddenly, his door is ripped open.

The sun blinds him for a moment, and he shields his eyes. There is a flurry of activity going on outside his carriage; he sees his driver now, sitting down with a bag over his head and his back against a tree, secured to it with ropes. The rest of his escort seem to have suffered a similar fate, and Thorin feels fear stirring deep within him.

Someone steps up to the open door and Thorin cowers back. "There's no need for that," the stranger says kindly. "We don't mean you any harm." He looks to be about Thorin's height, slightly shorter and with a slimmer build. A hobbit, he realizes with a start.

"You'll excuse me if I don't take you at your word," Thorin retorts sharply. He curses himself for not bringing his sword, despite his grandfather's clear orders not to. _"We are no longer mercenaries, Thorin,"_ he'd said. _"Respectable men of business do not wander around with swords strapped to their hips."_

Fat lot of good that does him now.

"I see you've brought us gifts!" He's grinning now, Thorin can see it, and his eyes are fixed on the bag of gold. Thorin lunges, but the hobbit is faster, and Thorin finds his arm locked in a firm grip.

"Unhand me," he grinds out.

"I can't do that," the hobbit says, apologetic. He bends down and scoops up the bag of gold, whistling a little when he feels the weight of it. "Now, if you'll just allow me to escort you from your carriage?"

It is phrased as a request, but the highwayman insistently pulls Thorin's arm until he has no choice but to follow. He stumbles over the carriage's steps. The highwayman keeps him from falling to his knees.

"Oi, Nori!" The bandit standing by his driver looks up just in time to catch the bag of gold. "Take care of that while I see to our guest."

Thorin surreptitiously glances at the strange, mismatched group of bandits. They are of different races; hobbits, dwarves, elves and men mingling together, all dressed differently, and most of them have outlandish hairstyles one would never see in city. Thorin's blood runs cold.

"You're the Bagger."

"It's Baggins, actually." The hobbit looks pained. "That name came about due to a misunderstanding. One of the unfortunate souls to pass through these woods misheard my name, you see, and the lads thought it rather funny and started to spread it around." He places his hand at his waist and bows. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service."

He doesn't seem like a very smart highwayman.

"Do you so easily give your name to all your marks?" Thorin asks scornfully. "I could have you arrested the minute I get back to the city." 

Bilbo Baggins smiles benignly. "I'm not really worried about that."

Fearfully, Thorin wonders why.

* * *

The bandit camp is entirely different from what he'd expected. For one, it is much cleaner than he would have thought. For another, it's also much livelier.

Years ago, when his family had still been disgraced, Thorin used to wander the lands with the other male dwarves. They would look for work, usually fighting, but sometimes also the work of blacksmiths or even mining. At night, they would make camp and start a fire, and tell stories over dinner. Someone would bring out a lute and whistle a tune, and others would join in to sing. It was merry and peaceful. Thorin misses it fiercely sometimes, for now that they've become respectable, such spectacles are out of the question. Or so his grandfather says. Not that anyone would think to disobey the head of the family.

Bilbo steers him towards the fire, where a beautiful, tall elf is cooking over a large pot. She smiles at him, and Thorin scowls back. "This is Arwen," Bilbo says. "She'll look after you for a bit while I take care of some things."

"And how long am I to stay here, exactly?" he asks quietly. 

There is some sympathy in Bilbo's eyes. "Not too long, I should think. We're only meant to detain you for a little while."

Detain him? Thorin frowns. If this isn't a kidnapping, and he is starting to think it isn't because otherwise, surely there would be talk of ransom, then what is the purpose behind all this?

He crosses his arms, and the edge of the contract presses into his chest. He freezes.

So that's it, then, he thinks bitterly. They intend to keep him from his meeting with Count Smaug, prevent the mining deal from going through. And there would be no renegotiating, either; Count Smaug was notorious for never giving second chances. It will cost his family much, and his grandfather will no doubt be very, very angry.

Maybe he can still slip away. His eyes frantically scan the camp, but everywhere he looks there are bandits. And they are keeping an eye on him, he can tell, even if they don't seem to be paying him any attention. Defeated, he slumps down and buries his face in his hands.

A gentle hand touches his shoulder. "Here, eat this," a soft voice says, and Thorin raises his eyes to those of the elf. She smiles down at him kindly and offers him a bowl of some sort of stew that smells better than the banquets Thorin has grown used to. His stomach takes that moment to rumble, and he accepts the bowl with a slight flush and murmured thanks.

The stew is excellent, thick and flavorful, and Thorin eats all of it. He declines a second helping, but doesn't refuse the mug of ale Arwen offers him. He is still sipping it when Bilbo returns and takes a seat next to him.

"Am I free to go then?" he asks without preamble. "It's almost nightfall. You have successfully prevented me from attending my meeting."

Bilbo sighs and rubs at his forehead. "There has been-- a change of plans."

Thorin doesn't like the sound of that at all. 

"You see, our client has decided he would like to ask for a ransom after all. And," Bilbo sounds apologetic, "the amount is large enough that I can't simply turn it down."

A snort escapes him. "Of course not. How much is your client asking for, then?"

"Ten thousand gold pieces."

His heart skips a beat. That's more than half their fortune. His grandfather will not pay that much, not after everything he's done to get it.

"I promise," Bilbo continues, unaware of the turmoil brewing beneath his skin, "as soon as your family pays, I'll set you free."

 _And if they don't pay_ , Thorin silently wonders, _will you be the one to kill me?_

* * *

His grandfather does pay.

Thorin stares in shock as Bilbo gestures at the bags placed in the wagon, beaming. "You'll be home before you know it," Bilbo tells him cheerfully. "I just have to take these to my client, and after that I'll see you to the nearest village. I'll even get you a horse, to apologize for your extended stay with us."

In truth, he hadn't really minded. The bandits are a friendly group, and many of them had gone to great lengths to strike up a friendly conversation with him and make him feel like a guest instead of a captive. He knows that Arwen deserted her family and joined the bandits to be with her lover, a human man called Aragorn. Nori has two other brothers, one younger and one older, and they live in a nearby village. Nori's share of the loot pays for the education of Ori (the youngest). There's also Gandalf, an old man who smokes a lot and seems to know everything about everyone, including Thorin himself, and his friend Radagast, who seems, well -- a little mad.

And then, there's Bilbo, with his easy smiles and friendly touches. He is obviously their leader, but he isn't treated differently for it. He gets laughed at when he falls out of a tree because one of the branches breaks, yelled at when Bombur discovers he's been at the dwarf's stash of cheese, and he seems to get hugged a lot by everyone. He bears it all with good humor, and Thorin just becomes more and more confused. After all the stories he's heard of the Bagger, the notorious highwayman with his fearless group of bandits, who never left any witnesses and was never caught, he'd expected...something else. Someone dangerous. Not this kind hobbit who doesn't seem to have a problem telling perfect strangers his real name.

"Why did you tell me your name when you took me?" Thorin asks as Bilbo rifles through the bags. Bilbo looks up and blinks at him in confusion. "I can report you. The moment you let me go, I can find the nearest guard and have you arrested."

Bilbo just smiles. "I've taken precautions against those sort of things," he explains. "A little extra for the guards in return for my peace of mind. But," and his smile grows, "I don't tell just anyone my name."

"Why me, then? You don't even know me."

"I am a good judge of character." Bilbo's brown eyes stare straight at him. "And I know you won't mention my name when you report the incident."

Thorin wants to protest, because why wouldn't he report Bilbo, rid the lands of this stealing, people-accosting menace once and for all? But he looks at the hobbit, notices the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and he knows Bilbo is right.

He spends the hours after Bilbo's departure for his meeting with the client in a state of perpetual tension. Most of him is eager to go home. He misses his family, even his cantankerous grandfather and the sound of his young nephews wailing and fighting with each other.

But there is a small part of him, a tiny, negligible, impossible part, that doesn't want to leave. He worries at it, poking and prodding, because why should he want to stay? These people are his kidnappers, not his friends, he reminds himself. It's true that they've been nice to him, and that he quite enjoys their company, but that doesn't change any of the facts. They are criminals, and he is a well-off businessman. 

He doesn't belong here.

There is shouting in the distance. Bofur and Dwalin exchange a glance before moving towards the noise. Thorin sits up, strains his eyes, but they're too far away for him to see anything. The yelling seems to be coming closer, but then it stops. Thorin fidgets nervously.

Bilbo storms towards the fire. His eyes are blazing with anger and Thorin almost wants to flinch away from him. He's never seen Bilbo angry -- the hobbit is usually the picture of happiness and pleasantness. 

He comes to a stop in front of Thorin. "Would you mind coming with me," he says, his tone brooking no arguments. Thorin quietly stands up and follows Bilbo to a large tent. He enters when Bilbo gestures for him to do so, and sits down when the hobbit does. 

"I am sorry," Bilbo begins grimly. "There has been a complication."

"Does your client want more gold?" Thorin asks, ruthlessly quashing the hope kindling to life within him.

The bandit leader shakes his head. He looks drawn beneath all the rage. "There's really no easy way to say this. I've been ordered to kill you."

Thorin's hands curl into tight fists. "I see," he says quietly.

"The thing is," Bilbo continues, "I don't do killing." He runs a hand through his hair. "I told him as much, but the bastard threatened the safety of my people." He looks up at Thorin. "You understand that I have to put their well-being first. They depend on me, and I can't let them down."

"I understand." The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I may be a bandit, but I try to be honorable." Bilbo launches to his feet and restlessly paces around the tent. "If I make a promise, I try to keep it. But," he comes to a stop before Thorin, "I am sorry, but I can't keep my promise to you." He looks upset, wringing his hands and biting his lip, but Thorin just feels tired.

"What is it you want? Acceptance?" He waves a hand. "You have it, if it sets your mind at ease."

Bilbo blinks. "What? No!"

"Then what is the purpose of this?" Thorin snarls suddenly, standing up quickly and causing Bilbo to take a hasty step back. "Is it supposed to make me feel better that you're killing me against your will? Well, it doesn't."

"Thorin." Bilbo raises his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Calm down. I'm not going to kill you."

He stops and stares at the highwayman. "You're not?" he mumbles. Bilbo solemnly shakes his head. "What about your client? Your men?"

"I'll tell my client that I killed you. He should be easy to convince, if," Bilbo averts his eyes, "you don't return to your family."

A strange numbness settles over him. "You mean to let my family think me dead." Bilbo nods. "And what of me? Will I be expected to hide away in some little village?"

"Actually, I was hoping you might like to stay here?"

When Thorin meets his eyes, he can see how worried Bilbo is. But there's also hope and eagerness shining through. For him?

"I will not help you steal from people." If the hobbit thinks he's gaining a new asset, he is very, very wrong.

But Bilbo merely nods his head as if he expected that. "There are plenty of things to do around camp. And it's probably best if you don't leave it. Just in case there are any spies lurking around."

Thorin frowns. "Your client sounds very influential."

A bitter smile forms on Bilbo's face. "That's the problem. He has too much influence. Usually, when a client tries to blackmail me, I have enough on them to blackmail them right back and reach a standstill. I don't have anything on Lord Thranduil, though." He shrugs.

"Thranduil," Thorin repeats, feeling suddenly cold. Bilbo looks at him oddly. "Thranduil is your client?" The hobbit nods, and Thorin seethes. 

"So, I suppose this is a personal matter, then?"

He snorts loudly. "Hardly. Thranduil has hated my family ever since we moved up in society. He can't stand the fact that my grandfather managed to raise us up from mercenaries to proper business owners. I suppose this is his way of breaking us, putting us back into our proper place. He is wrong if he thinks this will destroy my grandfather." 

Bilbo stares at him with a thoughtful expression. "You know, there may be a way to sort this out."

"Oh?"

"It seems to me that we'd both like to see His Lordship get what he deserves." The hobbit grins wolfishly. "What if we work together?"

"I told you, I will not help you steal," Thorin says with a frown, but Bilbo waves off his concerns.

"There are other ways to get rid of pesky lords. All we need is proof of some of his-- forbidden, clandestine activities, and after that the guards will take care of the rest."

Thorin frowns. "You think the guards will help us?" he asks dubiously.

"Of course they will." Bilbo smirks. "Thranduil isn't much loved beyond the borders of his little forest kingdom." He makes his way towards Thorin and holds out his hand. "So, do we have an agreement?"

With a feral smile, Thorin shakes his hand.

* * *

The days that follow are some of the happiest in memory.

It isn't that he's free of responsibility -- Bilbo was right when he said there was plenty to do around the camp, and Thorin constantly finds himself helping the others out with their tasks. He enjoys manning the anvil more than anything else, and he proves so adept at it that, after a while, the bandits refuse to have anyone else mend their armor and weapons. But he helps out with menial chores as well -- carrying buckets of water, chopping firewood, even doing the laundry. The only thing he isn't allowed to help with is the cooking. After the first time, when he burned the stew and his hand along with it, Arwen refuses to let him anywhere near her domain. Which is just as well.

The rest of his free time is spent with Bilbo as they pore over maps and documents procured by the many spies under Bilbo's command. 

It surprises Thorin how well they work together. He knows Bilbo is smart, a quick thinker who can always come up with a strange solution to any given problem. Sometimes, he wonders why Bilbo even needs him. Surely the bandit leader could take Thranduil down by himself? But while Bilbo excels in making mental leaps that leave Thorin dazed, when it comes to mundane things such as trade patterns and troop movements, his brain freezes. It is Thorin who pieces it together and points out that Thranduil is devoting a lot of his attention and resources to a mountain in the north. There would be nothing untoward about it, except for one thing; that mountain is part of Count Smaug's domain.

"He wants something from the good Count," Bilbo muses, "but what? And how can we find out without exposing our plans?"

Thorin stares thoughtfully at the papers scattered on the rickety table. He has looked at the map so much that the crisscrossing lines are imprinted on his brain. There is a list of names, known associates of Thranduil that Bilbo is tracking. And there are sketches of the Lord of Mirkwood and his family. He drags the sketch of Thranduil's son towards him, something stirring in his memories.

"There is a rumor among the dwarves," he begins slowly, "that Thranduil's son has a fondness for their company. That he seeks them out secretly without his father's knowledge." Bilbo snickers, and Thorin shoots him a quailing look. He glances at the sketch again, part of him disgusted with what he's about to suggest. But one look at Thranduil's smug smile staring at him from the other page steels his heart. "Perhaps one of the dwarves here could worm his way into Legolas's good graces. If Thranduil is planning something, Legolas will be privy to it."

"Any suggestions?" Bilbo asks, raising his eyebrows.

Thorin purses his lips. "Gloin."

Mirth dancing in his brown eyes, Bilbo briefly stick his head outside of the tent and yells for Gloin. "Will you tell him, or shall I?" he asks mischievously, and Thorin rolls his eyes.

"They are your men. This has nothing to do with me."

Gloin takes it with good humor. "Aye, I'll get him to talk," he grins. "Oin's been wanting to try a new drug, says even elves can't resist it."

"Yes, but don't use the drug if you don't have to. Oin's remedies have failed us before, if you'll recall."

His expression suggests the loss of a spoiled elven lordling would be no great waste (something Thorin is inclined to agree with), but Gloin nods all the same and takes his leave. Bilbo stretches his arms high above his head. "And now, we wait," he mumbles with a sigh, but Thorin's attention is drawn to the sliver of exposed skin at the hobbit's waist. He blinks once, twice, then tears his eyes away.

He must be going mad.

It's exhaustion and stress, he tells himself. He's out of his depths and not thinking clearly, that is all. Of course he doesn't find Bilbo desirable -- he's a bandit, and he kidnapped Thorin and caused his current predicament. Feeling any kindness for the hobbit is entirely unreasonable. They may be working together now, but that does not make them friends, nor does it allow for anything more.

But when he falls asleep that night, Bilbo's pale, smooth skin haunts his dreams.

* * *

He starts to notice little things after that. They're harmless, perfectly innocent, but they're like needles underneath his skin.

Bilbo makes a point of always sitting next to him. It doesn't matter if they're alone or together with the whole company -- somehow, a place is always left for him by Thorin's side. He leans into Thorin often, pats his arm or shoulder, finds a reason to bump their thighs together.

And he wouldn't think anything of it, except for the little glances Bilbo shoots his way when he thinks Thorin isn't looking. There's affection there, an eagerness to please, and it throws Thorin off guard. It is hard to cling to his resolve, to remember that this hobbit is the reason behind his family's suffering, when all he really wants to do is kiss Bilbo and see where that might lead. 

But maybe he's wrong. Maybe Bilbo is just being friendly. He is affectionate with everyone, Thorin can see that much, and none of the others seem to read anything more into it. So why would he be the exception, he wonders.

So he watches, aching quietly, and convinces himself that Bilbo's friendship will be enough.

* * *

"You seem troubled."

Thorin's head comes up sharply. A haze of smoke surrounds Gandalf's face. He declines the pipe when the old man offers it to him. "It would be strange if I wasn't."

"Yes, perhaps, but it is not Thranduil that troubles you now."

He stares at Gandalf. "You are fishing," he says flatly. 

Gandalf merely smiles serenely. "I do enjoy fishing. It is such a relaxing activity." Thorin rolls his eyes and turns away from him. "It's something I am very good at, you know."

He lets out a heavy sigh. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Of course there is, dear boy." A large hand kindly pats his shoulder. "There is no sense in fighting it, really."

Thorin stiffens. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Funny, that's what Bilbo said as well." 

His heart speeds up. "You spoke with Bilbo?" The old man nods. Thorin chews on his lower lip, then hesitantly asks, "What did he say?"

"About what?"

He feels a headache coming on. "Nevermind," he mutters. "Was there something you needed, or did you merely seek me out to toy with me?"

"That does sound like something I would do," Gandalf muses before shaking his head. "I came to offer advice, if you would care to have it." Thorin gestures for him to keep going. "You are both young, and you forget that life is not forever. You travel a dangerous path -- who knows what tomorrow will bring?" His blue eyes pierce into Thorin. "Thranduil does not make idle threats. You of all people should know this. Bilbo is playing a dangerous game, at great risk to himself and the rest of us."

"Thranduil poses a threat to everyone."

"Does he?" Gandalf pointedly looks at him over his pipe. "It seems to me that Thranduil's threat could have been easily neutralized. What is one life compared to the lives of many?"

"What are you saying?" Thorin whispers. 

Gandalf smiles kindly. "I am sure you know."

The old bandit leaves him to his thoughts after that.

* * *

He heads towards Bilbo's tent after nightfall. Most of the camp is asleep, aside from the ever watchful guards. But Thorin pays them no mind as he stealthily creeps through the scattered bedrolls. There is a faint light shining from within the tent, and he slips inside before nerves can get the better of him.

Bilbo is sitting at the table, still poring over the documents. His curls are in greater disarray than normal -- he must've been running his hands through them. Thorin's fingers twitch at his sides.

He must have made some kind of noise, because Bilbo looks up from the piece of paper in his hands. "Thorin," he mumbles, surprised. "Is something wrong?"

Thorin hesitates, then shakes his head and steps closer. "I came to ask you something."

"Of course." Bilbo gestures at the chair opposite him, and Thorin takes a seat. His palms feel sweaty and he clenches them in the fabric of his breeches. "What is it?"

"Why are you doing this?"

The question seems to take Bilbo by surprise. "Doing what?" he asks in evident confusion.

He waves his hand over the papers before him. "All this. Trying to take down Thranduil. Why?"

Bilbo's brow furrows. "Isn't that obvious? He poses a threat to both of us. We discussed this, remember?"

"It seems to me there was an easier way to ensure the safety of your merry band."

Suddenly, Bilbo's expression turns neutral. "That was not an option. I don't--"

"Kill, yes, I know." Thorin leans forward in his seat. "You could have simply asked me to stay here, not bothered with all this. Instead, you put your men at risk, and for what?"

"I thought this was what you wanted." There's a hint of uncertainty in Bilbo's voice. And that is the crux of it, Thorin knows.

He stands up slowly, watching Bilbo watching him as he steps around the table. Bilbo rises when he stops before him. They stare at each other for a laden moment, and then Thorin is reaching for him and Bilbo's hands are curling around his biceps. 

Their kiss is all fire and fierce passion. Breathing becomes unimportant, thinking even more so. Bilbo's tongue licks into his mouth and Thorin moans as he scrabbles to get closer. He can feel Bilbo's grin against his lips right before the hobbit nips at him. He growls softly, fingers winding in Bilbo's soft curls (and oh, he's been longing to do that for a long time) as he stages his own assault. Bilbo's lips part easily for him and Thorin takes advantage of his slight height advantage to push Bilbo against the table.

It isn't until they break apart that he notices that all his buttons have, somehow, come undone. Bilbo grins unrepentantly as sneaky fingers slide teasingly over his ribs. He sucks in a breath and shivers all at once. Then those fingers tweak a nipple and he lets out a husky groan.

He presses against Bilbo as the hobbit's hands continue to wander. All too soon, his breeches feel less constricted, and he stifles his involuntary sounds against Bilbo's pale skin. His hands stroke over Bilbo's clad thighs and he pushes them apart, letting his own swallow the gap. He leans forward, thigh rubbing against Bilbo's cock, and is gratified to hear the hobbit's gasp, feel the twitch as he tries to move his hips. A hand curls around his own erection in retaliation and he bites down on Bilbo's pale neck, sucking on the tempting flesh. 

Bilbo hisses, and his hand sets to working Thorin in earnest. Thorin bucks into the fingers, his thigh stroking Bilbo's groin each time, and they quickly fall into an unrelenting rhythm. He can't remember the last time he felt this reckless and wanton -- had he ever? -- but something about Bilbo makes him throw all caution to the wind.

It is over embarrassingly fast. Bilbo's other hand slips down to cup his balls and press against the sensitive spot right beneath, and how he found the room to wiggle, Thorin will never know, but it is the last straw and he bites down on his lower lip as he spills himself over Bilbo's hands. Bilbo strokes him lazily through the aftershocks, but his hips are undulating against Thorin's thigh and a flush is high on his cheeks. Thorin grabs hold of his hips, stilling the movement before thrusting his thigh upwards. Bilbo's groan shudders through them both and he does it again. Bilbo's nails dig into his arms, uncaring that he's spreading come all over Thorin's shirt. "Oh, yes," he moans, and Thorin bends his head to capture the hobbit's lips in a bruising kiss.

He swallows Bilbo's little moans and gasps as his thigh steadily rubs up against Bilbo's trapped hardness. He can feel it pulsing against him through the thin breeches. He slides his hands around to Bilbo's rear and, on his next thrust, he squeezes.

Bilbo collapses against him after his release. Their harsh panting mingles in the air, the rhythm broken by Bilbo's soft chuckle. "Well, that was unexpected," he murmurs. Thorin hums his agreement, and Bilbo's fingers lightly trace patterns over his bare chest. "I've wanted to take this shirt off you for quite some time," he confesses, and Thorin stifles a laugh.

"I've taken it off to bathe before," he points out.

Bilbo sighs heavily. "For some reason," he says, sounding wry, "someone always drags me away during those instances. I'm not sure what they thought I would do, but they are apparently more protective of your virtue than my feelings." He looks up at Thorin accusingly, as if Thorin had contrived to steal his friends away from him.

Thorin finds the scowl quite charming and can't resist smoothing it away with a deep kiss. They stumble their way towards Bilbo's bedroll like that, and when morning dawns they mount a repeat of the night's activities. Only this time, Bilbo's shirt comes off as well.

* * *

Gloin returns after two weeks with a victorious smirk. Bilbo instantly whisks him off to his tent, not even letting him grab a mug of ale. Thorin grabs the mug for him and follows, determined to hear Gloin's account firsthand. It was his idea, after all.

"That Legolas is quite the feisty one," Gloin begins, and Thorin makes a face. He really doesn't want to hear explicit details. But Gloin thankfully delves right into the important bits.

"That mountain," he says, pointing at it on the map, "there's something special about it."

Thorin nods. "A precious gem. It is said to be unequal to anything in beauty. And price, of course."

"Well, Thranduil seems to know it too. He's hacking into the mountain, trying to find it."

"Does Smaug know?" Bilbo asks, and Gloin shakes his head.

"Not as far as I can tell. He's going about it very quietly."

"This explains why he wanted me out of the way," Thorin mutters grimly. Bilbo squeezes his shoulder. "I'd heard a rumor that Thranduil made a bid for the mining contract before my grandfather did, and that Smaug refused. But Thranduil's expertise is in wood, not rock, so I did not lend it much credence."

"If you tell me you come bearing proof, I'll have the lads put on a feast in your honor."

With a raised eyebrow and a smug grin, Gloin produces a scroll from his coat. "The hiring contract of the miners Thranduil employed. It lists the location and has Thranduil's signature on it."

"I could kiss you," Bilbo intones reverently as he reaches for the document. Thorin frowns darkly and Gloin snickers. "Pass," the dwarf says cheerfully as he downs the rest of his ale. "I'll hold you to that feast, though. I've eaten nothing but plants for weeks, and I'm starting to feel green."

Bilbo waves him off with a grin before turning to Thorin, eyes shining. "We've got him."

His buoyancy is beginning to make its way to Thorin, but a sense of loss tempers it. "We've got him," he repeats with a small smile, trying to push the melancholy away. "What happens next?"

"Ah," Bilbo's eyes light up, "this is the fun part."

'The fun part' apparently includes Arwen who, Bilbo explains, will take the document to Smaug. "It has to be an elf so it looks as if someone who disapproves of Thranduil's actions is turning against him. It might make the Count more inclined to believe us." Arwen would request a meeting with Count Smaug and spin a woeful tale about honor, integrity, and the price of betrayal in Thranduil's kingdom. Hopefully, Smaug would be so touched by her courage ("And beauty, don't forget that part," Arwen adds) that he not only crushes Thranduil much like a dragon would destroy a forest, but also gives Arwen a reward for her considerable trouble.

"I know it won't replace all that you've lost," Bilbo murmurs against his skin later that night, as he lies on top of Thorin. Thorin's hand strokes softly over his naked back. "But it would be a start."

 _All that I've lost._ Thorin thinks about all the things that were taken away from him -- home, family, prestige. Then he glances down at Bilbo's head, settled right over his heart.

_And what of all that I'm about to lose?_

Part of him wants to tell Bilbo to call it off, burn the contract, let life go on as it is. But this isn't just about him, and so he stays silent. Bilbo's breathing quickly evens out, but for Thorin there will be no peaceful sleep that night.

* * *

When he wakes up it is mid-morning and Bilbo is gone.

He stumbles out of the tent with a pounding head, and Bombur takes pity on him and yells for Oin to come take a look. The yelling doesn't help much, but Oin's herbs do, and after half an hour Thorin feels almost normal again. "Where's Bilbo?" he asks Bombur when the hammers have stopped pounding his brain, and Bombur gives him a confused look.

"He left early this morning. Didn't he tell you?"

Of course he hadn't, Thorin thinks bitterly, because why should he? It isn't as if he must answer to anyone, least of all a dwarf who doesn't even belong here. He hasn't gone alone, at least -- Dwalin and Bifur are missing as well, but it does little to reassure Thorin, or to ease the sting of Bilbo's lack of trust.

He spends the next few days wandering sullenly about the camp, until Bofur takes pity on him and offers to teach him how to carve figurines. It feels good to do something with his hands again, and even though working with wood feels different from metalworking, it has the same soothing effect. For a few hours every day, Thorin manages to forget about his situation as he painstakingly tries to carve a moose out of the block of wood. Bofur is a patient teacher, and his jokes and anecdotes often make Thorin laugh. And if each mention of Bilbo sends a stab of pain through his heart, well, those scars will not be apparent to anyone else.

Bilbo returns after five days with Arwen in tow, all easy smiles and laughter. He curls his arms around Thorin's neck and tugs him down for an enthusiastic kiss amidst whooping and laughing from the rest of the company. Thorin returns the embrace and tries to hide his desperation. 

"How did it go?" he asks dutifully when Bilbo finally lets him go. Bilbo fairly beams at him.

"Better than we could've imagined. Smaug was incredibly pleased -- apparently, he's been looking for an excuse to go after Thranduil for quite some time now. Anyway, he rewarded Arwen quite handsomely. But that's not all."

His excitement is that of a young child's, and it pulls a smile from Thorin. "What else?"

The hobbit tugs on his hand and he follows Bilbo to where Dwalin is standing next to two rather large chests. "While His Lordship was busy dealing with a rather angry Count, we ah," he smirks, "availed ourselves of his treasury."

Thorin stares at him in horror. "You didn't," he breathes, but Bilbo's grin tells him that oh yes, he very much did. "He'll kill you when he finds out."

"Nonsense." Bilbo waves off his concerns. "He won't find out, anyway. We weren't seen by anyone, and he has no reason to suspect us." Thorin finds his hand trapped between Bilbo's as brown eyes stare earnestly, anxiously into his. "This'll be enough to reimburse your family for the ransom, as well as the loss you sustained when you lost Smaug's contract." His hand is squeezed. "With interest."

"You should keep this." Bilbo stares at him in confusion.

But Thorin doesn't know what to say, how to explain the turmoil brewing inside him. He looks at Bilbo and wonders if the highwayman cares at all. At least a little, his mind rationalizes. After all, one doesn't run off to rob a very dangerous lord for someone unless that person cares. But while Thorin is sure some of his despair must be evident for all to see, he sees no such signs on Bilbo's face.

Just him, then. His mother always did say that he got too involved, took things too personally.

With ruthless determination, Thorin plasters a smile on his face. "I mean to say that my family does not need all of this."

"Consider it an apology from the Bagger, then." Bilbo shrugs, and Thorin finally nods to put an end to the discussion. "It's a little late, but we could still make it to the village before night if you'd like."

 _So eager to be rid of me?_ he thinks bitterly. Out loud, he says, "Tomorrow will do just as well. I would rather not risk getting lost."

"Not all of us have your appalling sense of direction," Bilbo mocks him teasingly. "But this will give us a chance to see you off in style."

Before Thorin can tell him not to bother, Bilbo has yelled for Arwen and Bofur and wandered off to make his arrangements. It leaves Thorin standing, alone, next to a frowning Dwalin. 

"Don't let him fool you," the stoic dwarf says after a moment. "He's not looking forward to tomorrow."

Perhaps not, but Thorin knows that unless Bilbo comes out and says so, it won't matter one way or the other.

True to their word, the bandits put out a lavish spread to see him off in style. Thorin eats because he must, smiles because it wouldn't do for anyone to notice something is amiss, but his heart isn't in it. The food is tasteless in his mouth and the music only serves to give him a headache. Bofur keeps filling his mug with ale, and all too soon he starts to feel a little lightheaded. He stumbles warily to his feet, shaking his head when Aragorn asks him if he needs help. He doesn't need help; he needs to be alone.

Once he reaches his tent, he lets himself collapse onto the bedroll. He closes his eyes with a heavy sigh, grateful for the relative quiet. He can still hear the singing and cheering in the distance, but the sound is dim enough that it doesn't aggravate the pounding in his skull.

When he hears the tent flaps rustle, he starts to believe the fates are being cruel on purpose.

He slides his eyes open just a fraction, but it is enough to recognize the silhouette standing at the entrance. He sits up, and Bilbo ventures closer. "You left early," he says, voice hushed, and Thorin shrugs.

"I thought it might be best to make an early night of it," he lies. "I have quite a journey ahead of me tomorrow."

"Of course." The hobbit sounds subdued. "I just-- I wanted to--" He pauses, running a hand through his curls and sending them into further disarray. Thorin's fingers itch to set them to rights. "I'll let you rest," is what he finally says, and disappointment is like a dagger to his side. Bilbo turns to leave, shoulders slumped, and Thorin's heart aches in his chest.

"Wait," he calls out hoarsely, and Bilbo stops but doesn't turn around. "Stay."

He means to make it an order, but it comes out a question. Bilbo slowly walks back and crouches down beside him. He reaches out and latches onto Bilbo's shirt to draw him closer and captures his mouth in a soft kiss.

They trade languid, unhurried caresses, both of them inclined to draw things out. There is no rush to undress, to take things further. Thorin indulges his desire to run his hands through Bilbo's unruly locks, and Bilbo's fingers tenderly touch Thorin's face as he scatters small butterfly kisses over it. The gentleness almost undoes Thorin, lodging something in his throat and making it hard to breathe. He hides it by burying his face in the crook of Bilbo's neck and licking a path up to his ear. Bilbo shivers and Thorin does it again, savoring the breathy moan it elicits. "Shhh," he whispers against the hobbit's ear before drawing Bilbo's head up and swallowing the rest of his involuntary sounds with his mouth.

Eventually, the small touches cease to be enough. Shirts and breeches are discarded, and Thorin places his leg around Bilbo's hips and flips them over. He lowers himself down slowly, the sensation sending shudders through his body. Bilbo lies flushed and panting beneath him, eyes fever bright with intensity. He lowers his mouth to the pale chest and Bilbo rises up to meet his tongue with a little gasp. He takes his time exploring, mapping the skin beneath his lips and fingers, cataloguing the scent, the feel of it. This, he wants to remember.

"You're such a tease," Bilbo huffs laughingly into his shoulder, but Thorin pays him no heed as he sucks one of Bilbo's nipples into his mouth. Bilbo hisses and his nails leave scratches over Thorin's back as his hands trail lower. They latch onto Thorin's cheeks and massage the muscles. Thorin finds himself twitching involuntarily and stills with some effort. But then, a finger slides teasingly between his cleft, and when it strokes gently over his hole he gasps. He spreads his legs and tilts his hips upward, chasing after the touch. He hears a soft chuckle and then the finger is back, circling and rubbing his entrance, and it's all he can do not to whimper.

Bilbo's hand rummages beside the bedroll and for a moment, Thorin can't imagine what could possibly be more important. But when the touch returns it is slicker, and he spares a brief, thankful thought for Bilbo's foresight. The lone finger works at him in earnest, thoroughly greasing up his entrance but always staying on the outside. It's driving him mad -- no matter how he tries, he can't take Bilbo by surprise to drag the finger inside, and is left rutting mindlessly against Bilbo's thighs. "Now who's teasing," he moans, and then finally, finally, Bilbo relents and slips his finger in.

It slides in easily and Thorin thrusts back into the welcome intrusion. "More," he growls, spreading his legs impossibly further. Heat flares in Bilbo's eyes and a second finger joins the first. Thorin gasps, relishing the stretch as Bilbo moves the fingers slowly within him. His cock throbs as he fucks himself on Bilbo's fingers, trapped between their bodies and stimulated by the constant friction. His thighs ache with the strain of keeping them wide apart, but he doesn't care. 

Bilbo's other hand toys with the flesh of his arse, stroking and pinching as his fingers play within him. He withdraws for a moment, and Thorin can feel oil dripping over his balls. Three fingers plunge into him and he groans loudly. The sound they make as they stroke his passage is wet, obscene. He pushes himself up on his hands, changing the angle, and pushes his hips down hard as he clenches around Bilbo's hand. Bilbo hisses as his cock jumps against Thorin's inner thigh.

The vial of oil is standing next to him and he reaches for it. He lets it dribble over his hand and, with a smoldering look at Bilbo, starts to coat the hobbit's cock. His hands wander down to the balls, pulling on them before going up again to spread the oil evenly. Bilbo's hand stills for a moment, but Thorin makes a noise low in his throat and the movement resumes.

When Bilbo's cock is glistening, Thorin lifts himself to his knees. His eyes hold Bilbo's as his hand grips Bilbo's cock, guiding it to his entrance, and when he cants his hips down they both gasp. Bilbo is holding still, waiting for Thorin to adjust, the need to move clear in his eyes. But he waits until Thorin is seated fully, Bilbo's balls flush against his rear, and only then do his hips give a shallow thrust.

Slick hands slide to his hips, guiding his movement, and Thorin follows their urging. He lifts and meets Bilbo's upward thrust with his own. His hand curls around his leaking cock but is quickly slapped away. Then the hobbit's legs come up, giving him that extra bit of leverage, and Thorin's mind goes blissfully blank as Bilbo hits that spot within him. His resulting moan must be loud enough to wake the dead, but he is past caring.

There is a soft growl beneath him and suddenly he finds himself flipped over, on his back. Bilbo rises above him, flushed with arousal, and without preamble his cock plunges back into Thorin. Thorin lifts his legs and winds them around Bilbo's back even as his hands hold onto Bilbo's shoulders. The languid pace is gone; their rhythm speaks of desperation. Thorin's breath comes in soft, keening pants and he tries to pull Bilbo in further, closer, meld them together. He can feel his endurance slipping away and he tightens around Bilbo. The hobbit groans, hips pushing against Thorin's, and so he does it again, and again until Bilbo cries out and spills within him.

He can still feel the softening cock pulsing within him when Bilbo's hand reaches for his own and begins to stroke it in earnest. It doesn't take long -- a few pulls, a little teasing at the slit and then Thorin's orgasm is coursing through him, leaving him dazed and breathless. Bilbo collapses on top of him, breathing equally haggard, and their hearts beat in ragged counterpoint.

His hands stroke gently over Bilbo's back as they begin to cool down. When the hobbit's breathing has evened out, he leans down to whisper in his ear all the things he can't say out loud.

He doesn't expect a reply.

* * *

He waits until Bilbo has fallen asleep, and dresses quickly and quietly in the dark before slipping out. He knows where the guards will be and takes great pains to avoid them, putting the skills Nori had taught him to good use. He doesn't dare stop until he finds the road, but then he looks back once.

Nobody follows, and Thorin heads up the road and leaves the camp and coffers of gold behind.

* * *

Over the next few days, he often catches himself thinking wistfully of the simplicity of his life with the bandits.

Much is made of his sudden return, exhausted and travel-worn. His grandfather's eyes actually well up when Thorin finally sees him, and he feels strangely touched. But he's all business again a moment later, and Thorin is interrogated more thoroughly than prisoners are. The guards are involved, of course, and Thorin ends up repeating his tale several times for several groups of people.

"But what did your attackers look like?" the guards persist in asking him. He shrugs and says he never saw their faces. They don't seem to believe him, even though his driver and escort had all said the exact same thing, but he's past caring.

His grandfather seems determined to see the scoundrels pay for the damage they have done, and Thorin leaves him to his rage. He hasn't even mentioned Thranduil's involvement, even though that might make his family relax a little. But divulging that would mean explaining why he knew, which would mean involving the bandits.

He wouldn't mention Bilbo -- the hobbit had been right about that much, even if he got almost everything else wrong.

On the morning of the third day of his return, the sound of shrieking wakes him. He runs down the stairs in alarm, noticing the maids clustered around the front door. "What is it?" he barks, and the maids drop hurried curtsies as he comes to a stop before them.

"Sir, we were about to clean the steps when we found this."

On the marble stairs leading to the front door of his home stand three familiar coffers. A note is pinned to one of them and he snatches it up with a trembling hand.

 _Sincerest apologies._ His hand clenches around the worthless message, crumpling it as he lets out a bitter laugh. "Have someone carry them into my grandfather's study," he directs the maids, and they scurry off to do as he asked. He walks back to his room and feeds the note to the fireplace.

But even that does not ease the pain.

* * *

After an hour of smooth rolling over the northern road, the carriage comes to a stop.

Thorin leans forward to knock on the wooden panel, but the door crashes open before he can. He stares, wide-eyed, as Bilbo slips inside and takes a seat in front of him. Bilbo's brown eyes are blazing with anger, and his voice is terse when he asks, "Why did you leave?"

"Why did I--" He trails off, indignant. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression that I was free to go."

It hurts Bilbo -- he can see the highwayman wince, but he steels his heart and glowers back at him.

"You know what I mean," Bilbo retorts, sounding a little calmer. "Why did you just leave, without even saying goodbye?"

He has to avert his gaze then. "I'd said my goodbyes already," he mutters. "There seemed little point in dragging it out."

"You didn't take the coffers, either," is the next accusation, and Thorin sighs, suddenly exhausted.

"I didn't want them."

Bilbo doesn't reply, and after a while Thorin cautiously raises his eyes. The hobbit looks at him pensively, and something deep within him stirs. 

It's anger, he tells himself, nothing else, it can't possibly be anything else. But he recognizes in Bilbo the same melancholy he's been dragging around since his return, and despite his resolve, his heart falters.

"They've all turned against me, you know." Thorin blinks at the non sequitur. "Dwalin is so angry with me all he does is grunt when I ask him anything. Arwen only cooks things she knows I hate, and Bifur keeps looking at me as if I'd broken his favorite toy." Bilbo looks almost like a petulant child, and Thorin's lips twitch despite his best efforts. "They blame me for letting you go, but you didn't even give me a chance."

Thorin snorts. "You had plenty of chances."

The hobbit shakes his head. "I didn't, not really." Thorin raises an eyebrow. "I was so sure that you wanted to go home, and I wasn't about to risk anything by begging you to stay."

"And what would have changed, had I stayed till morning?"

Bilbo looks at him intently. "I heard what you said." Thorin stiffens. "I was going to wait till morning before asking you to stay, but you ran off."

"Why didn't you simply come after me?" Thorin asks hoarsely. "If you knew, why didn't you follow when I left?"

A flush steadily spreads from Bilbo's ears to his cheeks. "I didn't notice you go, did I," he mutters. "I was too exhausted, after we-- well."

They stare at each other as something within Thorin slowly begins to shift. A sharp rap on the door shatters the silence and Bilbo tenses. "The guards are about to wake up. I only have another minute." He looks at Thorin, opens his mouth as if to say something, then snaps it shut again. "I don't know if it matters anymore," he finally murmurs quietly with his hand on the door knob, "but I love you, too. I just needed to let you know that."

Dazed, Thorin watches as Bilbo opens the door. It isn't until the hobbit is outside the carriage that he remembers how to move.

"Wait!" he calls, and Bilbo turns around at the bottom of the small steps. "Some highwayman you are," he says, heart pounding as he stands in the doorway. "Will you leave without taking anything?"

Bilbo's lips curve into a small smile. "I thought I might give it up."

That makes him snort loudly. "I don't believe you for a moment," he informs the hobbit loftily, and Bilbo's smile widens.

"Maybe I've come to realize that some things need to be earned, first." His gaze is like a soft caress and Thorin shivers under the weight of it.

"That seems far less exciting than simply stealing things."

"I thought you disapproved of stealing?" Bilbo asks, amused.

Thorin smiles slowly. "Maybe I've changed my mind."

With the gentlest of smiles and twinkling eyes, Bilbo holds out his hand.

And Thorin allows himself to be stolen once more.


End file.
